Family Photos
by save changes to normal
Summary: Everything seems to be going great for MacGyver as Grant is settling in and the two start getting used to each other. But when the teen's uncle comes into the picture, they face a whole new set of problems. Second in the Grant series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, I know I said I'd be writing a Rundown fic next, but this one wouldn't get out of my head, and in the words of Charlie Eppes from Numb3rs, "I have to work on what's in my head." I hope no one's disappointed, but I doubt anyone is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing as seen on TV. Grant is mine, though, and I'm keeping him.

Chapter 1

"I'm telling you, this guy's toast," Grant said excitedly to Mac as he walked backwards up the dock toward the houseboat he and MacGyver had been sharing for the past two months. "No doubt about it. I'm talking break-out-the-butter-and-jam, part-of-this-balanced-breakfast toast. It's in the bag."

MacGyver shot him an amused look. "That so?" The seventeen-year-old former thief had moved in as a witness MacGyver had been charged with protecting for a case that was still pending. Since then, Mac had grown rather attached to the quick-witted teen…and his rapidly expanding sarcastic mouth.

"Come on, you and me working together? Scumbag won't know what hit him. What kind of a moron goes around importing stolen artifacts on our watch, anyway? You'd think he'd never heard of us. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "seeing as I'm still technically in protective custody and you've got that whole Lone Ranger defender of justice thing going, that's probably a good thing."

Mac grinned. "Probably. Hey, if I'm the Lone Ranger, does that make you Tonto?"

"Of course not," Grant said matter-of-factly. "Tonto never beat the Lone Ranger at pool."

MacGyver rolled his eyes. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? It was one game. That shot was so lucky."

"All in the angles, Professor," Grant said smugly, shaking his head.

"It was an unfair bet," MacGyver said, adopting a stern look even though his eyes were glinting with humor. "You never said you already knew how to play."

Grant laughed. "Never said I didn't." He gave a mischievous smile. "Besides, you were a great loser. I figured you wouldn't do it, but man…Those pool hall guys will be talking about it for years to come. I never knew you had such a horrible singing voice. How'd that one go again?" He grinned through Mac's warning glare and sing-songed, "If you wanted the sky, I'd write across the sky in letters that would soar a thousand feet high…"

MacGyver lunged for him in time to grab a fistful of air as the boy darted away, bolting for the door, giggling. As he reached it, he turned around and swept his arms out, his voice ridiculously high. "To Sir, With Love."

That was the last he got out as MacGyver reached him, grabbing him around the waist and have dragging, half carrying the good-naturedly resisting teen into the houseboat where he deposited him on the sofa. "You want to try that again?"

"I would," Grant giggled. "But I just can't sing as pretty as you, Mac." He let out a holler of protest as MacGyver sent his fingers dancing across the kid's ribcage, tickling the heck out of his squirming victim.

"You think so, do you?" MacGyver said with a grin. "I don't know. Come on, Grant. Let's hear you sing." He went for that particularly vulnerable spot on the neck right under the jaw line. Made Grant _howl._

"Mac, stop it!" he shouted.

"Tell me how great I was up on that stage," MacGyver demanded.

"Like an angel!" Grant fairly squealed. "Heavens were opening! I heard the harps, man! Now, quit it!"

"Okay." MacGyver finally released him, watching with satisfaction as the boy collapsed into the couch cushions.

Grant looked up at him. "You are evil," he panted. It earned him a light smack upside the head and a wry look as MacGyver straightened up and headed toward the kitchen. "What's for dinner?" Grant asked.

"Food," MacGyver called back without hesitation.

Grant grinned at the exasperated response. He could practically hear Mac's eyes roll. "Sometimes a loose concept where you're concerned."

"You wanna cook?"

Grant made a face. "Um, can't. I have to go…" he thought for a moment. "Aw, just choose a random excuse. I'm taking a walk. I'll be back in a few."

"You've got to be back in time to set the table," MacGyver reminded. "Don't slam the…" He was answered as the door banged shut hard enough to rattle the dishes behind the rapidly retreating teen. "Door," he finished lamely. He couldn't help the affectionate smile spreading its way across his face. That confident young man who'd just banged through his front door was so much happier than the scared, lonely kid who'd quite literally stolen his heart a couple of months earlier. Now the boy had a place in his life and in his home—on his couch, actually—and MacGyver could hardly remember what it was like to _not_ have him around to nag and tease and brag on and—when Grant would let him—take care of.

Pete had started referring to Grant as "Mac's boy." It made MacGyver's heart swell every time he heard it. There was no doubt about that. The two were a weird little family. Mac wasn't Grant's father. Both the boy's father and mother had been murdered when Grant was only twelve. Mac knew he had no place trying to act like Grant's father. But there was this crazy protectiveness that flared up nearly from the get go. Neither he nor Grant had quite gotten used to it, yet, but so far they'd been doing alright.

There was something, though. Something indefinable. Grant was infinitely more relaxed than he had been on day one, but there seemed to be something else, some small part of him that still made sure he stayed at arms length. Like no matter how safe he felt, he could not allow himself to completely lower the shields he'd spent five tragic years of his life building up around the broken heart of a twelve year old who'd been told he'd lost everything and couldn't bear losing everything again. MacGyver wasn't sure how to get past it or if he should even try. After all, the kid was staying. Didn't that mean he had all the time in the world? Maybe it was one of those things that would resolve itself over time as Grant became more and more comfortable.

With that thought on his mind, MacGyver went back to making dinner with a renewed sense of I'm-going-to-make-things-better-for-this-kid. In his mind, he still hesitated on referring to Grant as "my kid." Because truthfully, he knew Grant still didn't see himself that way.

Grant had made it clear they were roomies, insisting on paying rent. But there were a few unspoken rules MacGyver had quickly learned. All that family stuff was fine as long as they didn't have to talk about it. Grant had gotten pretty good at accepting the occasional hair-ruffle or arm around the shoulders, but hugs were for nightmares only, and if Mac wanted to kiss the top of his head, Grant had better be out cold or severely shell-shocked. And Grant never asked. If MacGyver offered, it was okay to accept, but Grant never _ever_ asked or even initiated the contact himself. Late-night movies were often employed to get the kid's mind to slow down and ward off nightmares. During these times it was acceptable for shoulders to be touching and, depending on Grant's level of drowsiness, Mac was allowed to pull him close so that his head rested on the front of Mac's shoulder. And those "moments of weakness" were never to be discussed.

MacGyver sighed. It was a little like walking through a minefield with that kid. But, he knew, it was worth it. Every time he saw the shadows in those green eyes disappear as the boy smiled or heard the pleasant, infectious laugh, he knew it was worth it. He loved that kid. And that made it worth it.



That evening as the two were scraping the last of the chicken and rice—which Grant had to admit was pretty good—from their plates, MacGyver suddenly said, "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and drew out a key, passing it across the table to Grant. "I had this made for you. Here."

Grant stared at the key, sharp eyes taking in the familiar shape and grooves. "This is to the houseboat," he said bluntly.

MacGyver gave a small smile. "Nothing gets past you."

Grant suddenly looked embarrassed. "Is this because of the whole locking-your-keys-in-the-truck thing? 'Cause that was an accident…"

"No," MacGyver laughed. "This is because of the whole you-live-here-now-and-you-need-a-house-key thing. And I never would've found out about you locking my keys in the truck if Pete hadn't come in raving about how you managed to break into it with a safety pin and his money clip."

"I did get him a new money clip," Grant offered sheepishly.

"I know," MacGyver smiled. "Now, I have paperwork Pete won't let me get out of. So, if you'll excuse me…" He stood up and took his plate to the sink before sitting on the couch and spreading the paperwork on the coffee table in front of him.

Grant looked at the key, ran his fingers over the smooth metal. He'd never had a house key before. Really, since his parents died, he'd never had a house. Not a house of his own, anyway. He was surprised at how much the small gesture meant to him. In his hand, he held the freedom to come and go as he pleased in a boathouse that was becoming more and more his home. Not a Home he had to share with fifty other kids or a house where bad people hurt him and made him steal. _His home._

He grinned. _I'm really staying._ And that meant…He stood and took his plate to the sink, washing his and MacGyver's dishes and sticking them on the rack to dry. Then he entered the family room and sat next to his friend. MacGyver shot him a grin.

"Hey. You're not bored already, are you?"

"No," Grant shook his head.

"Good." A bored Grant Colbey was a force to be reckoned with. "I just have to finish this. Then we can go do something fun."

Grant shrugged. "Take your time."

MacGyver gave him a funny look. The kind that said he was trying to decide if he should be happy the kid was content to let him work or worried the teen was up to something. He shrugged and went back to work.

"Hey, Mac?" came a small voice after awhile.

MacGyver looked over to see Grant staring at the blank TV screen, seeming to be going for nonchalance. That look was always so much more convincing when the TV was actually on. "Yeah?"

"On our way home from work tomorrow, is it okay if we stop by the Home?"

Of all the things he'd expected from the young man beside him, it definitely was not that. "What? Why?"

Grant gave a one-shouldered shrug, still pretending it didn't really matter to him one way or the other. "I have some stuff still there that I need to pick up. It shouldn't take long."

MacGyver was confused. "I thought we got all your stuff."

"Yeah, well…" Grant hid a wince—unsuccessfully. "Not quite all of it."

"What didn't we get?"

"I…uh…" Grant was clearly struggling with whether or not to tell him. _Come on, kid,_ Mac thought. _Trust me._ "I sort of have these pictures there."

"Pictures?"

"Yeah. There's this place under my old bed where the boards are loose in the floor, and…that's where I kept some pictures of…you know…before."

MacGyver nodded. Before. He knew exactly what that meant. "Why did you hide them there?" he asked.

Another wince and a stiff shrug that made the act of indifference he was going for start to unravel. "Well, you know. I'm used to being places that aren't exactly great for keeping things safe. So…I always keep the important stuff at the Home for when I get sent back."

_When,_ Mac noted. _Not if._ "But you're not getting sent back this time," he stated with patient reassurance.

Grant shot him a quick smile. "I know. I was going to pick them up last month when I was planning to skip town, but…"

"You didn't skip town," Mac finished for him.

Grant paused a moment to acknowledge that before plunging ahead. "Right. So they're still there. And I kind of need them. I mean, I don't _need_ them, but they're really all I have from before, and it'd be nice to have them, I guess. And hey, you don't even really have to come. I can borrow the Jeep after we get home tomorrow. I'll pay for gas…"

"Grant," MacGyver interrupted, reaching out to grasp the rambling teenager's jaw and turn his face so he could look him in the eye. "This is important to you." He'd made it a statement instead of a question, for which Grant was thankful because it meant he didn't have to offer a response. "That makes it important to me. That's how this family thing works. So we go tomorrow and get your stuff. Right?"

Grant hesitated for a moment and then suddenly flashed a brilliant, relieved smile before pulling away from Mac's hand and slouching back against the couch, his "Hey man, it never mattered to me in the first place" look back in place. "Sure Mac. Whatever."

This song is "To Sir, With Love" by LuLu. It's not mine, either.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Special thanks to raute-borg for the kind review. And yeah, it is houseboat. I just had the biggest "duh" moment. And, it may be hard to believe, English _is_ my native language! I'm definately bonking myself on the head for that one! Thanks so much for catching that, and please don't hesitate to point out any other mistakes you find. Your English rocks. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. : )

As they drove to the Ellen Hansley Children's Home, Grant became more and more fidgety. First he was nervously tapping his leg. Then a pencil in the cup holder became a drumstick. Before he knew it, MacGyver was listening to a full-out percussion session on the dashboard of his Jeep. Once they pulled into the parking lot, though, it stopped and Grant stilled, looking up at the building with wide eyes reflecting an unimaginable level of hurt and sorrow. He suddenly looked painfully young.

They'd visited the Home before when MacGyver had a "chat" with the man formerly in charge. Mac had come out of that meeting with bloody knuckles and an even greater respect for the kid who'd managed to survive that nightmare. Grant had been nervous at the time, but MacGyver had quickly informed him that he could wait outside with Pete. This time, Grant would be going in.

Grant told himself he was being stupid. The fear that was constricting his gut didn't make any sense. Nothing bad ever really happened in this place. It had always been more of a refuge than anything else. Sure he'd always been under an apathetic headmaster, but that guy was gone now. And yeah, some of the boys were jerks, but this place had been a sanctuary for him. People mostly left him alone. Plus, he'd get to see Mrs. Dwiggins, and she'd always been nice to him. So why was this so hard?

As he looked up at the intimidating building, he figured it out. Every time he stepped back into that place, it was because someone else didn't want him. It was because he'd finished a job for someone who hated him, he'd out-stayed his usefulness, and they'd tossed him back.

He swallowed. Well that was dumb. He was with Mac now. Mac wasn't throwing him back. He'd brought him here as a favor, because they were a fam…friends. They were friends. And Mac would never leave him behind. He had to stop acting like a little kid. He was smart. An employee at the Phoenix Foundation. Tough as nails. He could go into a stupid orphanage.

The hand that suddenly jostled his leg came as a surprise and he jumped. _Not a great start, Grant,_ he told himself as he looked over at MacGyver whose hand still rested on his knee in a surprisingly comforting gesture.

"Hey," MacGyver said, eyebrows raised in a way that suggested he'd been trying to get Grant's attention for awhile. Grant cringed inwardly. _Guy probably thinks I'm a total head case._ "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Grant dismissed. "Are you coming in, or do you want to wait out here?" _Please come in, please come in, please…_

"I'll come in."

_Yes! _"Okay," Grant shrugged. "Whatever."

As they walked up the paved sidewalk, Grant had to order his legs to keep up a normal pace. They kept wanting to slow down. They reached the door and MacGyver stopped. Turning to his young charge, he asked seriously, "Do you want me to go in for you? If you tell me where the pictures are, I can get them for you. You don't have to do this."

Not wanting to admit how tempting that really was, Grant grinned and forced half a laugh. "Why would I need you to do it? It's no big deal. I can do it myself."

"Grant." MacGyver's stern tone of voice made the fake smile drop off the young man's face. _Stop playing tough guy with me_ went unspoken.

"Sorry. I mean thanks. I think I need to do this, though." It wasn't really an admission of fear or even discomfort. But the softer tone of voice and the eyes locked on his own had MacGyver smiling proudly and gripping the back of Grant's neck in an affectionate squeeze.

"Okay. Let's do this, then."

The foyer was littered with various toys and children's books. Grant could hear the large group in the dining hall. He looked at his watch. 6:45. They would be eating supper now. He squared his shoulders, careful not to dislodge the hand still at the back of his neck and he and MacGyver made their way to the large room. Around fifty boys and girls between the ages of five and eighteen sat down to dinner together every evening at 6:30 sharp.

Mrs. Dwiggins, a kind woman of maybe fifty-five years, stood immediately from where she sat at a table with other staff members as she saw the pair hovering uncertainly in the entryway. She walked over to them, smiling, and wrapped Grant up in a hug. He hugged her back. She was one of the few people in his life who could get away with such things.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Grant!" she exclaimed, pushing him back so she could look at him. "I've been so worried for you. How have you been, honey?" She was also the _only_ person in his life who could get away with calling him "honey."

He grinned, some of the tightness in his gut loosening a little. "I'm great, Mrs. Dwiggins. I'm in good hands. This is MacGyver."

She looked at the man with a classy smile and a raised eyebrow. "We've met briefly. How _is_ that hand of yours, Mr. MacGyver?"

MacGyver smiled openly at the reference to the visit he'd paid a month previous. "Feeling good, ma'am. How's the job treating you?"

"Quite nicely. Thank you." Her thanks was as sincere as MacGyver had ever heard. She turned to Grant. "Now, you said on the phone you'd left some things in your old room. You want to run and get those now, dear?"

"Sure."

"Want any help with that?" MacGyver asked.

"No, it's okay. I'll get them." His smile wasn't fake. He was serious.

"Alright. Go on."

MacGyver watched the boy retreat up the stairs. When he turned back to Mrs. Dwiggins, she seemed bothered by something. "What?" he asked.

"Why don't you come with me to my office," she said, her voice making it less of a question, but her eyes making it more of a plea. "I think there's something you need to know."



MacGyver found himself sitting in a nice but tiny office across from an outwardly concerned woman. "What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Did Grant tell you he has an uncle?" she asked.

The question took him by surprise. "No, he didn't," he answered honestly.

"His name is Aden Bruce, and he's in town. He came here looking for Grant a few days ago. He wants to see him."

MacGyver was shocked. He'd thought Grant had said he had no family. But no, he recalled. He didn't say no family. He said no family that _wanted me._ MacGyver felt like a huge idiot for failing to pick up on it then. "If he has this uncle, why was he living here?"

"Aden wouldn't take him. He'd come by to see him every year or so," she remembered sadly. "Grant would be so excited, sure that this time, his uncle would let him stay. But I always had to watch him come back with his heart broken as he watched his uncle pat him on the head and drive away." She looked up at him. "I couldn't tell him where Grant is staying since he_ is_ in protective custody. But he asked if I would give him this," she held up a slip of paper, a phone number scribbled on the front, "the next time I saw him. Aden is his only living relative, his legal next of kin." She handed him the paper. "Grant loves him."

MacGyver nodded. "But you don't."

She shook her head, eyes far away, remembering the face of a little boy who was trying desperately to figure out why no one wanted him as he stubbornly refused to let tears fall. "I don't," she confirmed.



Grant descended the stairs with a soft smile, feeling the reassuring weight of the tin _Andy Griffith Show_ lunch box tucked securely under his arm. The lunchbox had been his dad's. He could hear the soft clink of the photos rattling around inside. He may have tried to play the whole thing off as unimportant, but the reality of it was, if this place had somehow caught fire, he would have found a way to get in to get those pictures, ten foot flames or not.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned and froze. MacGyver was gone. A horrible sickening feeling descended on him with startling force, his chest tightening and blood rushing to his ears. _No, this is stupid, _he told himself. _Mac wouldn't leave me here! He…_

"Grant. In here," MacGyver called calmly.

Grant immediately looked toward the sound of the voice as fists unclenched and his heartbeat returned to normal. He couldn't get into that office fast enough. "Sorry," was the first thing he blurted. MacGyver looked at him funny. He'd just apologized for everything he was thinking about the man. He shook his head. _Get a grip, Grant._ "For taking so long," he finished.

The look stayed in place as MacGyver glanced at his watch. "It's been seven minutes."

"Oh," Grant said dumbly. "Felt like longer, I guess." That really was the truth. The rows of beds and the cubbies used to store the boys' few precious belongings had brought a lot of memories rushing back. "Well, you ready to go?"

"Yes," MacGyver stood, and Grant noticed something different in the man's eyes. The normal spark of humor was gone. "Thank you, Mrs. Dwiggins."

She nodded and looked at Grant. "You take care of yourself, honey." As she hugged him, she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to be praying for you, Grant. You've always been a blessing to me. Let this man take care of you some, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Grant whispered back. "Tell whoever's got my bed, the second board from the wall comes up. It's a good place to keep things." The admission was quiet, but enormously significant. In a place where there was little to no privacy, a secret place to hide one's treasures was to be closely guarded. The fact that he was giving it up could only mean one thing. He was counting on not coming back.

She nodded and released him, watching them go with slightly teary eyes. They were happy tears. It was happy when a child she loved found someone who loved him. She'd miss him, but she prayed the boy would never have to come back. As she watched MacGyver wrap an arm around the young man's shoulders with as much protection as affection, she was sure he'd be okay. MacGyver would fix this. Hopefully before Grant had his heart broken again.



"You know, that wasn't so bad," Grant said thoughtfully as they drove. MacGyver had been quiet, but the teen was so lost in his own thoughts, he didn't seem to notice. "In fact, it was kinda nice. Know what the best part was?" He turned excited eyes toward MacGyver.

"What's that?" MacGyver asked mildly.

"Leaving with you," he grinned. Then he pulled a face as he realized how sappy that sounded, and Mac got the feeling the "with you" tacked to the end had been an accident. "I mean…" Grant started to backpedal.

"I get what you mean," MacGyver assured him. "You don't have to go back if you don't want to. Ever."

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Grant nodded, grateful for the coaching. But he caught something else in MacGyver's voice. "Are you…I mean, everything's okay, right? You're acting kinda…" he morphed his face into a serious expression that made MacGyver crack a little smile.

"Yeah. Everything's okay." He paused and seemed to gather himself as he said his next words. "There is something we need to talk about, though."

The solemn tone of voice had warning bells ringing in Grant's head. "Uh-oh?" he asked.

MacGyver didn't know how to answer, so instead he just said, "Your uncle's in town looking for you. He wants to see you. You don't have to…" That was all he got out as Grant's face lit up like he'd only seen a few times.

"My uncle? Aden's here? To see me? Well, where? Can I see him? Is he waiting somewhere?"

The rapid fire questions left a bad taste in MacGyver's mouth and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The smile that would usually warm Mac's heart made it clinch. He answered the questions patiently, but he couldn't deny to himself what he sensed. He had a bad feeling about this.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Any reviews would be much appreciated. Not that I'm begging. Well, not begging...per se...

"Uncle Aden!" MacGyver never thought he'd see the day. Grant ran to the guy. He ran to him and _hugged_ him. They'd been waiting at the entrance to the marina for the truck to arrive, and Grant had been practically bouncing with anticipation, almost vibrating in an attempt to keep up his cool, calm façade. MacGyver told himself for the hundredth time that the twinge he felt in his gut wasn't jealousy.

Aden Bruce laughed as he hugged his nephew. "Hey, kid. It's been awhile. I was worried. Lady at the orphanage said you went all witness protection. How you doing, partner?"

"I'm fine," Grant dismissed with his usual token response. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you of course. Hey, this your new foster guy?" He looked MacGyver up and down.

"Uh, no. This is my…This is MacGyver. I'm staying with him. Technically I'm still in protective custody, but really that's just what we told the state so I wouldn't get sent back to the Home."

"Grant," MacGyver said, a hint of reprimand in his tone. They weren't exactly supposed to be publicizing those facts.

"What?" Grant asked. Then he shrugged and went on. "Mac, this is my uncle Aden."

The two shook hands. "Nice to meet you," MacGyver said civilly.

"Sure. Thank you for taking care of my boy." He nudged Grant who grinned. "You ready to go, partner?"

"Yeah. See you later, Mac. Thanks for the ride," he called over his shoulder as he went to the truck.

"You need money?" MacGyver asked.

Grant rolled his eyes. "I've got money."

"I'll take care of everything," Aden cut in.

"You'll have him back here by six, right?" MacGyver asked the man.

"Sure. Back by six. Got it."

MacGyver could only watch, jaw stiff, as a truck containing the most precious thing in the world to him drove away.



MacGyver got a call at 5:52 that evening. It was Grant. He sounded happy. "Hey, Mac."

"Hey, shouldn't you guys be on your way home by now?" he asked, trying not to sound too parent-y.

"No, actually, we're going to go see this hockey game tonight. Uncle Aden has tickets. I'm just gonna crash at his apartment tonight. Don't worry. I'll be in to work tomorrow."

MacGyver bit his lip. Grant hated hockey. The teen had no great love for sports in general, and he didn't care who knew it. The fact that he was all willing and excited about going with Aden…he sighed. Whatever. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks for calling to check in."

"No prob. See you tomorrow."

"See you." The click on the other end of the line signaled the end of the call, but MacGyver just held the phone to his ear, even as he heard the dial tone. He stared at the spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread he'd just finished preparing. Grant's favorite. Not that he was trying to bribe the kid or anything, he just…missed him. _Get a grip,_ he thought to himself. _Kid's been gone for a few hours. You'll see him tomorrow. __Geeze__, it's not like he's going to be living with the guy._

With a sigh, he hung up the phone and began putting the food in containers and placing them in the fridge.



The man's name was Isaac Gellerman. And he was indeed toast. Gellerman had been illegally importing stolen artifacts from all over the world which he was quickly trying to unload. He was an intelligent man, not so much ruthless as he was crafty. He wasn't in to killing people. He was in to making money. Of course, sometimes things happened, and in order to keep making money, a life or two had to be forfeited. And he'd become quite good at making such decisions. What he didn't know, however, was that his odds for success had recently decreased quite a bit. Recently, MacGyver and Grant had taken up his case.

The two were waiting in the van with Pete and a couple other guys from the Foundation, ready to put the plan into action. MacGyver looked at Grant. "So how'd it go last night?" he asked casually. He hadn't really gotten to speak with the teen since the phone call the night before.

"What, with Uncle Aden?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. We went to the amusement park and then he took me to a game. It was fun."

"Good," MacGyver nodded. "Good. Who won?" he added as an afterthought.

"Won what?"

"The game."

"Oh, I don't know. You know I don't follow hockey. Hey, there goes Gellerman," Grant pointed out.

As soon as Gellerman left the apartment building and his car disappeared around the corner, MacGyver was out of the van and through the front doors. He spoke into the mic attached to his shirt collar. "I'm in."

The plan was for MacGyver to sneak into the lush apartment and plant bugs throughout the place so they would be able to hear when the next deal would go down. They'd be able to intercept the buyer and then catch Gellerman in the act. Grant's job was to stay in the van and work surveillance with Pete.

Everything was running smoothly as MacGyver managed to slip into the apartment without being seen, making short work of the lock with his ever-present Swiss Army knife. He quickly set to work installing the bugs. One on an expensive cherry wood bookcase, disguised between the pages of _David Copperfield._ He quickly stripped the bed of all its fittings, and, using his knife, inserted one just below the surface at the foot of the mattress. The phones were tapped next, and another bug behind a picture frame in the kitchen. He was about to erase the evidence of his presence and head out when Pete's voice in his ear made him freeze for a moment. "MacGyver, you have to get out of there. He's back."

MacGyver looked around the apartment, eyes moving directly toward the bedroom where the sheets and blankets and pillows were still strewn across the floor. "Oh, shoot."



"The bed's a mess. I walk now, and the whole thing's ruined," MacGyver's voice said clearly through the speakers. "Problem."

Gellerman was walking toward the entrance. Grant whipped off his headset and tossed it down in front of the monitor. "Tell him to tidy up as quickly as he can and get out," he said to Pete. With that he opened the sliding door and hopped out, yanking it shut behind him.

"Grant!" Pete called too late after him. He shook his head. Then he relayed the instructions to MacGyver.



Isaac Gellerman walked with brisk impatience toward the apartment building. He'd stupidly left his address book on the nightstand in his bedroom. He'd need it if he wanted to see about contacting any potential buyers. As he walked, a young man brushed by him, offering a distracted "Excuse me, sir," and moving along without slowing down.

Without offering it much thought, Gellerman made it to the door before a young voice called, "Mister, um, Gellerman?" He stopped and turned around, eyes widening slightly in surprise. The teenager was standing several yards away, holding his wallet, peering at his driver's license. The teen looked at him. "This is you, right? I think you dropped this."

Gellerman took his hand off the door handle and walked back toward the young man, checking his inside jacket pocket. He took the wallet back, counting the credit cards and considerable amount of cash tucked between the folds of the expensive European leather. It was all still there. He looked up at the young man in surprise. "Thank you. You realize you could've had a field day with this?"

The boy shrugged. "Considered it. Anybody with that much cash and plastic probably has too many resources to make it worth my while, though. I'd rather go home to a dinner of peanut butter and crackers than wake up with a full stomach in juvie tomorrow, know what I mean?"

The man's eyebrows raised and he smiled slightly at the atypically honest answer. "An intelligent teenager? You know you're an endangered species?"

The boy grinned. "Maybe I should come back and smash your mail box to even things up."

That got a genuine smile from the normally hard criminal. He removed a fifty dollar bill from among the wads of money and handed it to him. "Here. For your trouble. Why don't you go buy something a little nicer than peanut butter? And leave my mailbox alone."

The teen laughed, accepting the money without hesitation. "Not a problem, sir. Thanks." Sharp eyes spotted MacGyver exiting the front of the building, heading towards the van. _Time to wrap it up,_ Grant decided. "Well, have a nice day."

"Mmhm." The man looked him up and down with penetrating eyes. "By the way," he called to Grant's retreating back. "Nice lift. I never felt a thing."

Grant turned around and winked, offering a shrug as he continued on his way. Gellerman chuckled as he entered the building. Grant couldn't believe it. He'd just run into the very man they were trying to arrest, and had made the guy _like_ him. _Cool,_ he thought, coming down from the adrenaline rush. _Mac's __gonna__ be so proud…_

The hand that snaked out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around, came as a complete surprise. He found himself face to face with MacGyver. The man didn't look proud. In fact, he looked royally ticked.

"What the heck were you doing?" the man nearly yelled. He pulled the boy away from the van and any prying ears.

"I…I…I…" MacGyver had startled him so bad, Grant had trouble getting his mouth working. The fingers still clasped onto his arm were starting to hurt.

MacGyver couldn't believe what Pete had told him. "You weren't supposed to take off your headset," he said angrily. "You weren't supposed to leave the van. And you certainly weren't supposed to walk up and have a conversation with a man who's stolen from governments and killed at least five people!"

Green eyes widened and then hardened as a mask slipped firmly into place. "Can I say something?" he asked.

"No! No, you don't get to say anything. We had an agreement, Grant. You are seventeen years old, kid. You're supposed to be consulting. Not running off with some half-baked scheme that could've gotten you killed. If you _ever_ pull something like that again, I'll have your clearance pulled so fast…"

"Can I say something?" Grant asked again, calm voice doing nothing to quiet the hurt and anger behind his eyes.

"What?" MacGyver finally asked, none too kindly.

Grant pulled his arm from MacGyver's grip and, reaching up, switched off the mic still attached to MacGyver's shirt. "You're a liar," he said lowly.

MacGyver, still reeling from the revelation that he'd just effectively reamed the kid out in front of colleagues from the Foundation, could only listen.

"You said you trusted me. You lied."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Special thanks again to Niente Zero who's been my most faithful reviewer. Love the feedback! Thanks much and enjoy!

The van ride back to the Foundation was dead silent. MacGyver felt like ten kinds of an idiot. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the stupid mic. But that wasn't even the worst part, and he was aware of it. He couldn't believe he'd lost it like that with Grant. The kid had basically just pulled MacGyver's butt out of the fire, and all Mac could do was yell at him for playing by ear, something MacGyver was known for doing himself. An idiot and a hypocrite.

It had just freaked him out. Grant had already had such a hard life. The thought of something happening to him through a Foundation assignment was unbearable. _Something just did happen to him, genius,_ Mac told himself. _The only guy he's really started to trust just tore a strip off him in public._ An idiot and a hypocrite and a jerk. Great.

Pete kept shooting him these awful, sympathetic, omniscient Pete-type glances, too, which always made him feel horrible until he had a chance to talk to his old friend and mentor. But still, that was better than Grant. Grant still wouldn't look at him at all.



As soon as they got back to the Foundation, Grant called Aden. MacGyver couldn't even pretend he didn't hate that idea.

"You coming back tonight?" MacGyver asked as Grant prepared to leave. Aden had agreed to pick him up.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." His voice wasn't hostile. It was flat and emotionless. Non-confrontational was the word.

"You sure you don't want to just come home? We could…"

"No, that's okay. I don't know how long Uncle Aden's going to be in town."

"Grant," MacGyver said. "I'm sorry."

The teen only nodded at first, an action that seemed more like something Grant figured was required than actual forgiveness. But something must've shown in MacGyver's eyes, because Grant softened somewhat. "I know. It's o…"

"It's not okay," MacGyver said firmly. "It's not. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

Grant looked at him for a long moment before a half-smile graced his features. "Yeah? Well, maybe you're right. You acted like a jerk. Don't do that anymore."

MacGyver smiled back. "I'll try. You scared me, though, kid."

If anything, that had the opposite effect of the one he was going for. Grant's expression immediately shuttered. "Glad we talked. See you later, MacGyver." With that he walked away.

MacGyver could only watch. He'd called him "MacGyver." If that wasn't a step in the wrong direction…He sighed. Where was Pete? He needed to talk to Pete.



"Come in," Pete called without looking up.

MacGyver stared at him from the doorway where his hand was poised ready to knock. He looked at his hand and shrugged, sauntering in. "I hate it when you do that, Pete."

"Get a haircut and we'll talk about things that annoy each other," Pete smirked.

MacGyver gave him a look and rolled his eyes. He leaned against the wall, fiddling with something on Pete's bookshelf.

"Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes," Pete said.

MacGyver looked up. "What?"

"Yes, you overreacted. No, I don't think it's unforgivable, and neither will Grant. No, you're not a hypocrite or a liar or even a bad parent. And yes, you do need to _talk to him about it._"

MacGyver went over the answers in his head. "You didn't tell me what the last 'yes' was for."

"Yes, you do need a haircut."

MacGyver smiled, sighing as he sank into a chair. "Thanks, Pete."

"No problem." He let his friend think quietly for awhile before going on. "He thinks you don't trust him, you know," he said seriously.

"I trust him," MacGyver protested.

"No, you don't. Think about it. Do you really think that I enjoy watching you skip off to do dangerous things, usually with no backup, knowing that this time might be the last time? I know you know better than that. But I recommend you and I give you assignments because I trust your instincts and I trust you abilities, and I trust _you._"

"Pete, that's not the same thing. This is my job. He's seventeen, for crying out loud."

"It is the same thing. Could you really believe, even for a moment, that the second Grant turns eighteen he's not going to be in this office begging me for field work? He's practically started begging me already. You're going to have to accept the fact that this is what he wants to do. And be proud of him for that. He's so much like you. But you'd better realize real quick that things are going to be so much harder for him if he doesn't know for sure that he has your blessing. He loves you, MacGyver. Whether he'll admit it or not, he loves you. He needs your support. He'll do what he has to do without it, but you know inside that'll tear him apart."

Pete was staring at him with that gaze that wouldn't let him look away. "You're right," he admitted. "You're right. I'll straighten it out. But man, Pete, I hate that."

Pete gave him a fond look. "Believe me. I know how you feel."

"Why can't he go into something safe like…medicine or something?"

A longsuffering sigh preceded a knowing look. "Because he's too much like you."

A half smile brightened Mac's face as he thought it over. Then he suddenly darkened. "But that's not the only problem."

"His uncle," Pete said knowingly.

"I don't like him, Pete. I don't know how I feel about Grant spending all this time with him. Well, yeah, I do know. I don't like it."

"You're jealous," Pete stated.

"I'm not jealous," MacGyver said firmly. Something in the way he said it made Pete realize something else.

"No. Not jealous," he said. "Scared. You're afraid he's going to take Grant away from you."

MacGyver stayed quiet for a long time. "I'm afraid Grant's going to want to go," he finally said. "I don't trust that guy, Pete."



Grant and Aden got back to the man's apartment late. Aden hung his jacket on the rack as Grant flopped down on the sofa. "You mind sleeping on the couch again?" the man asked.

"No," Grant answered agreeably. "I sleep on Mac's couch all the time. It's kind of my bed there."

"That so? You know you've been talking about this guy all day?"

"Have I?"

"Yeah. Everywhere we go it's 'Mac this' and 'Mac that.'" There was the tiniest hint of distaste in the voice.

"He's a really good guy," Grant defended. "At least he lets me stay…" He cut himself off abruptly and an awkward silence enveloped the room. _At least he lets me stay with him._

Aden grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Want one?" he asked. It was clearly supposed to be something of a peace offering. Grant shook his head. He didn't touch the stuff. In his experience, it made people lose control, and he always ended up the target. He didn't ever want to lose control like that. Aden shrugged and sat down next to him on the couch, nursing his own drink. "You been having fun these last couple days?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's been awesome. Thanks."

"Good. I've had fun, too." They sat in a companionable silence for a long moment before Aden spoke again. "Grant. I need to talk to you about something."

Warning bells. "What's that?"

"I need some help."

Grant hesitated. _Not again._

"I'm in a little over my head with some guys who…well I owe them a lot of money. It's a little more than I asked for last time, but nothing you can't handle, right? Not with your kind of skills." He tried to smile. It somehow came off wrong.

"Uncle Aden…"

"It'll be just like last time, and no one'll have to know, right? Just one more job, Grant. Last one. I promise. One little job."

"I can't," Grant suddenly blurted. His uncle looked downright offended. "I mean, I can't, Uncle Aden. I'm not a thief anymore."

"What do you mean you're not a thief anymore?" the man demanded. "You're kidding, right?"

Helpless, Grant tried to answer reasonably, "Well, no. I…"

His uncle wouldn't hear it. "Come on, we've done this before. Look, whatever this is, you need to get over it. Me and you are family, kid. We're supposed to help each other out."

"Look, how much do you need? Maybe I can just give you the money."

"Yeah, well, not unless you've got an extra sixty-five grand laying around your bank account."

"Sixty-five thousand dollars? That's not one little job. Come on. I work for an agency that stops stuff like that from happening. They already know what I can do. They know my style. Heck, the only reason I'm not in juvie right now is I've got Mac and Pete to vouch for me."

"Grant, you don't understand," the man said desperately. "If I don't get these guys their money, they're going to _kill_ me!"

"Then we need to figure out a way to get you somewhere safe until we can get these guys behind bars where they belong."

"You know that's not how this works!" Aden stood and began pacing up and down the room. "What is wrong with you? You spend a couple months with some fed and suddenly you're too good for your own family?"

"He's not a fed," Grant replied automatically. He quickly shook his head and stood, trying to calm the man. "I mean, no. Uncle Aden. I'm not..." _Slap!_ Grant shook his head, bringing his hand up to his stinging cheek. The slap hadn't been particularly hard, but he always hated it when his uncle did that. It was one thing when it was coming from a stranger, but when it came from family, it somehow…hurt more. Deeper. He was quiet as his uncle stared down at him with angry eyes.

"This is it, then, huh? You're walking out on me now?"

"No, sir," Grant whispered.

"Then you'll to do it for me? You're going to steal it for me?"

Grant raised his eyes, eyes full of a desperate hope for the one man on earth who by rights _should_ have some kind of love for him to tell him it was okay not to steal, eyes that begged the man to step up and be the hero Grant had always longed for. "No, sir."

The only thing in Aden's eyes was an anger fueled by fear and cowardice. He slapped Grant one more time. "Then what good are you!"



MacGyver weaved in and out of traffic at speeds Pete would kill him for, the phone call the foremost thing on his mind.

_Um, Mac?__ Can you come pick me up? Please? I'll be outside __Aden__'s place._

MacGyver had immediately asked why. Grant's answer amazed him.

_I just want to go home. _

As he pulled up to the old apartment building, he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on the ground with arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. The figure immediately stood and began walking towards the Jeep. Grant. MacGyver was out of the vehicle in an instant. He caught Grant around the shoulders, guiding him toward the headlights so he could see him clearly. Nothing seemed out of place. There was a slight fading red mark on his cheek, though. "What happened? What's wrong?" MacGyver questioned worriedly.

Grant shook his head, the light reflecting off a little too much moisture in the big green eyes. "Just take me home, Mac. Please?"

"Okay," MacGyver nodded, steering the boy toward the Jeep, looking over his shoulder at the dark, silent building.

When they were driving, MacGyver looked over to see Grant staring out the window. "Grant, I need to know what's wrong," he said gently. "Did Aden do something?"

"I'm going to tell you tomorrow," came the soft reply.

MacGyver looked at the digital clock. 12:06. "It is tomorrow."

"More tomorrow."

MacGyver nodded. If Grant needed him to wait until it was "more tomorrow," then he could wait till more tomorrow. He hoped Grant wasn't paying attention to the way he was driving. He really wasn't setting a good example.

When they arrived at the houseboat, Grant insisted on using his own key to unlock the door for reasons MacGyver could only imagine. When they were inside, Grant went wordlessly to the VCR and popped in the closest video, not even bothering to look at the title. He didn't care. He stood there as the previews played, staring at Mac with such a look of wistfulness the man felt it deep inside his soul. MacGyver, playing by the "rules," went and sat on the end of the sofa. The moment Grant sat down next to him he was pulled tightly against the man's chest.

Grant was shaking. Not crying. Shaking. That's what happened when he was working so very hard at keeping his emotions inside. A soul-deep quaking that spoke of pain big enough shake him to the core. He buried his face in MacGyver's chest, and for a long time, the deep tremors ran through every inch of the too-thin frame. MacGyver held him tightly, trying to physically absorb some of the pain.

"It's more tomorrow," MacGyver said, desperately needing a clue, needing to know how to make this, whatever it was, better.

Grant took a deep, shuddering breath. "He—he doesn't want me, Mac," he said softly. A sob broke loose so suddenly, it scared him. "I tried, Mac. I tried so hard. Why..." The tears also came without warning. Grant hated this, hated crying, hated feeling helpless. "Why can't I just be good enough?"

MacGyver sat there, holding him, his own eyes moist as the movie _Short Circuit_ of all things played on the TV screen. He wasn't sure what to say, what could make the pain go away. Convincing a teenager who'd been made to feel like he was worthless for much of his life that being abandoned by his uncle wasn't his fault was no easy thing. No simple "You _are_ good enough" would cut it. Instead he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I love you, Grant."

The fingers that grasped tightly at the fabric of his shirt didn't come as a surprise.

"I love you," he repeated. He kissed the top of the boy's head, figuring this could fall under the "severely shell-shocked" category. He didn't really care if it didn't. Grant needed it, and that was what mattered. MacGyver wanted nothing more right then than to drive back to that apartment and beat the fool out of Aden Bruce. The guy had no idea what he was giving up. But that would mean letting go of the precious kid clinging to him like a life-preserver. No way in heck that was going to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

MacGyver awoke late the next morning. Grant was nowhere to be seen, as usual. He smiled, however, when he saw the Tylenol and glass of water sitting on the coffee table in front of him. For his sore neck. "Grant, you're the coolest kid in the world," he called out, having no idea where exactly the teen was. He swallowed the pills, wincing as he tipped his head back.

"You may not think so in a minute," a tentative voice said from behind him. Grant was fully dressed as he walked around to sit on the coffee table in front of MacGyver. "I need your help," he said solemnly.

MacGyver's chest swelled with pride at the fact Grant had come to him for help in the first place. "Name it."

"Aden's in trouble."

MacGyver's face darkened. "You bet he is."

"Mac, some guys are after him. They're going to kill him."

"I'm having a hard time caring."

"Mac, please," Grant said, almost pleading. "I'm okay. I mean you don't...I can't just send him off to get killed."

"Tell me what happened last night." It was an order. Not a request.

Grant bit his lip. "He—he wanted me to steal for him," he admitted, eyes dropping to stare at the floor.

"_What?"_

"If he doesn't give these guys sixty-five thousand dollars, they'll kill him. He was desperate."

"Are you defending him?"

Grant's eyes shot up to look at him. "What do you want me to do? He's the only family I've got."

"_No_," MacGyver said sharply. "He's _not_."

Grant swallowed hard. "Mac…"

"How did he know?" MacGyver asked. "How did he know what you can do?"

Grant sighed, hanging his head miserably. "I told him." It took almost a full minute of working up courage for him to continue. "When I was fourteen. It was after I'd been pulling jobs for Rahmier for awhile, and I wanted to get out. I thought if I could make Aden see I could do something for him…"

"Maybe he'd take you with him," MacGyver finished.

Grant nodded. "It wasn't good enough, though." MacGyver heard the real meaning behind the words. _I wasn't good enough._ "He came around more often when he needed money. He was really nice, too, most of the time. But he always took me back."

"He hit you?" MacGyver asked, point-blank.

Grant winced. "Not really…"

"Grant."

The boy shrugged painfully. "He slapped me around a little. It was never anything awful." That wasn't true. It was awful. It just didn't leave the same kind of physical scars.

MacGyver reached out and lifted Grant's chin so he could see his eyes. "You don't owe him anything."

"He's my mom's brother," Grant said simply. "I can't just let him die."



When the two got into work that morning, MacGyver let Pete know about the situation, and a grave-faced Thornton sent a man to get information out of Aden. MacGyver would've gone. He wasn't a violent guy, quite the opposite, in fact. But he didn't think he'd seriously be able to stop himself from pummeling the man, and as good as that might feel, it wasn't what Grant wanted. Which still didn't cease to completely amaze him.

The men threatening Aden's life were loan sharks. Apparently, Aden had borrowed from them to pay off some gambling debts. As soon as they had the names, they went to work, pulling up wrap sheets and creating a file on each of the three men. There was no way they'd be able to convict the three of them based on the claims of one man with an admittedly shaky background. There simply wasn't enough evidence.

It was Pete who finally came up with the solution. If they couldn't remove the threat from Aden Bruce, they could at least remove Aden Bruce from the threat. They'd give him a new name, new background info, new life, and a one-way bus ticket to get the heck outta Dodge. It seemed the most fitting solution. Aden was a coward. Let the coward run. Their persistence and hard work had nothing to do with the man. It had everything to do with Grant Colbey, for no other reason than that he'd asked.

It took a couple days to get everything together. When it was ready, Pete called MacGyver into his office.

"Yeah, Pete?" MacGyver asked brightly, sticking his head in the door.

"I have the file for Aden Bruce here," he said. MacGyver's grin faded. "I thought maybe you'd like to take it to him."He slipped the file containing all the information, papers, and birth certificate into a manila envelope and held it out to his friend.

MacGyver bit his bottom lip and looked down. "Not sure that's a good idea."

"MacGyver," Pete said, waiting patiently until his friend looked up. "I'm not asking you to make your peace. I'm only asking you not to kill him." MacGyver tilted his head to the side as he studied Pete. "Tell him," Pete urged, his eyes doing nothing to hide his anger. "Tell him what he did."

MacGyver slowly reached out and took the envelope. He looked up at his friend and offered a tight smile. "Thanks, Pete."



It didn't take long to find the man. He was holed up in a bar three blocks from the apartment nursing a bottle that couldn't have been his first, not wasted, but not completely sober, either. MacGyver walked up behind him and dropped the envelope down on the bar. Aden stared at it.

"That's everything. A new life. A fresh start. Bus leaves at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow, and you better be on it."

"Thank you," the man offered without feeling.

"Keep your thanks. None of us did this for you. We did it for Grant."

Aden snorted. "What's the kid got to do with it?"

The careless, slightly slurred question was the proverbial straw. Something in MacGyver snapped, and before he knew it, he had pulled the man up from the chair by his lapels and slammed him into the wall. Aden let out a loud curse.

"I'll tell you what the kid has to do with it," MacGyver hissed, not caring who was watching. "He's the only thing that kept any of us at the Foundation from coming down here and making your death look like an accident! You have no idea what you just threw away! That kid is kind and funny and strong and so smart, and you left him to rot for five years in a place that kept sending him away to get beat up and made to steal! And he still managed to talk a group of people who hate your guts into saving your sorry butt!"

Aden tried to struggle away, but MacGyver slammed him back against the wall. "I'm going to tell you something, Bruce, and you'd better listen good. You take this bus ticket, and you run; you run far, because if you ever go near _my_ kid again, you're going to regret the day you were born. You got that?"

Aden paused a moment before speaking slowly, his eyes cold and defiant. "Only thing he ever could do right was steal. Now he can't even do that." He let out an alcohol-laden breath and ran his tongue over yellowed teeth. "You can keep him."

The punch was hard and fast, catching Aden in the mouth. As the man cursed and moaned and sank to the floor, spitting blood, MacGyver turned away. Shaking out his fist, he walked out of the bar without sparing the other patrons a glance, and without ever looking back.



Grant was waiting for him when he returned. He was sitting on a bench near the parking lot, licking a strawberry popsicle. As MacGyver approached, he tossed one to him.

"Thanks," MacGyver said as he began unwrapping the treat.

"I figured you could either eat it or use it to ease the swelling on your knuckles."

MacGyver sighed and sat down next to him. "Pete tell you I went?"

"Doesn't Pete always tell us everything about each other?"

"Pete knows everything sometimes." MacGyver shook his head at the silly statement. "How'd you know I hit him?"

"I know you."

"Does it bother you that I hit him?"

"You kill him?"

"No."

"Then no," Grant sighed. "I guess not." He didn't look at MacGyver as he added, almost too quietly to be heard, "Kinda wish you'd been there when I was twelve."

"So do I, bud," MacGyver said. He wasn't sure he'd ever meant anything else more in his entire life. "So do I."

Grant nodded his acknowledgement, unable to look at the man. He sat quietly munching on the popsicle for a long time.

"Grant," MacGyver ventured. "You know it wasn't your fault he...left you." MacGyver didn't want to dredge up painful memories, but he had to make sure. "I mean, you do know that, right?"

Grant glanced at him. "You know, that's the first thing they drill into you at the Home? Pretty much anyone who cares enough to talk to you will tell you that it's not your fault nobody wants you. Thing they don't get, though, is when you're in an orphanage or group home, whatever, and there's someone out there who could get you out, and they just won't, you _want_ it to be your fault. If it's your fault, there's hope. If it's your fault, there's always the possibility that if you can do better or be smarter or somehow just fix whatever it is that's so wrong with you, maybe then you'll be good enough for that person to come save you. But if it's their fault, there's no hope. If it's their fault, there's nothing you can do. No one's coming to rescue you, ever. I guess if it was between blaming myself and giving up hope, I figured it'd be easier for it to be all my fault."

The strong fingers that began kneading the back of his neck weren't surprising. It actually felt really nice. He found himself leaning back into the comforting touch.

"How about now?" MacGyver asked gently. "What do you think now?"

"Mac," he said softly. "It wasn't my fault."

"I'm glad you know that, kid."

Grant shrugged. "It's not hard to see it now." He looked up and met MacGyver's eyes. "I've already been rescued."



Later that day, they intercepted the phone call. Gellerman had set up the buy for that evening. It was go time.


	6. Chapter 6

"You know, I'm getting really sick of the inside of this van," Grant commented to no one in particular. They had already intercepted the buyer, a man named Bryan O'Reilly. MacGyver was standing on the docks, a brief case full of cash sitting at his feet, waiting for Gellerman, posed as the buyer.

"Welcome to my world," Pete said dryly. "Just be glad you get to be here instead of stuck in an office waiting for him to call."

Grant shot the older man a grin. "Worried much, Pete?"

Pete offered a smile and a look that made Grant suspect he was only half-joking as he said, "Always."

"Hey, fellas," MacGyver's voice sing-songed over the speakers. "We've got our guy."

They spotted the car slowly pulling up. Gellerman got out. Two other men exited behind him.

"What is going on here?" MacGyver asked in a decent Irish brogue. "I thought we agreed to meet alone here, just the two of us. You canna change such an agreement on a whim. We're the both of us businessmen."

Grant glanced at Pete. "That's pretty good."

"It's those Irish roots."

Gellerman seemed unconcerned. "I needed to make sure you are who you say you are." He turned to the younger man on his right. "Charlie?"

Charlie smiled. "Mr. O'Reilly. Has it really only been a few months since we've spoken? My how you've changed."

MacGyver smiled nervously at the gun suddenly pointed at his chest. "Now, laddie…"

"Drop the act," Gellerman ordered. "I want to know who you are and who sent you, and I want to know in the next three seconds."

"Gellerman, take it easy." The vaguely familiar voice startled the man, and he whirled around to see the little con artist he'd run into days earlier. The boy was striding toward them with his arms held out from his sides, half to show he wasn't carrying a weapon, and half in a "What in the world are you guys doing?" type of gesture. He was staring at "O'Reilly." He brushed by Gellerman, offering a "Hey, how are you?" before walking to stand in front of O'Reilly's imposter. "Mac, why didn't we see this coming?"

"You were supposed to stay in the car," the man he called "Mac" scolded.

"You were supposed to not get caught."

Mac nodded. "I know. What a waste. I've been working on that accent for months."

"It was a great accent," the boy reassured, patting his arm.

"What's going on here?" Gellerman demanded. He pointed at the teenager. "Why are _you_ here? And who are you?"

"My name is Grant. This is my friend Mac. Look, you caught us. He's not O'Reilly. But I don't see any reason why we can't still deal. We brought the money. It's all there if you want to count it."

"Where's O'Reilly?" Gellerman asked angrily. "Tell me what this is, or boy, I will have you both shot."

"Look, we heard about some merchandise, and we wanted in. So we bugged your phones and found out you were selling it to O'Reilly, who's fine, by the way. Just a little 'tied up' at the moment." He glanced at Mac who was giving him a funny look. "Too cliché?"

"A bit over the top, yeah."

"Why didn't you just contact me yourselves?" Gellerman wanted to know.

"We didn't want you to know who we were. We're so not giving you last names."

"What's to stop me from believing you're cops?"

Grant gave him a look and rolled his eyes. "I'm seventeen. Hello."

Gellerman relaxed slightly. "Getting into this business a little early, aren't you, son?"

"It was either this or smashing mailboxes. This seemed slightly more profitable. Besides, you know what they say about those early birds."

"Aren't they the first to be shot by the hunters?"

"Not if they're singing the right tune."

"So sing."

"Well, Mac here's the one with the pipes." He patted his parnter on the shoulder. "Sing for 'em, Lulu."

"Six hundred grand," Mac offered, shooting the teen an odd look. "That's thirty more than O'Reilly offered you. Think of it as a little bonus for this whole misunderstanding."

Gellerman considered it. He finally smiled, motioning his men to lower their weapons. "I like that song." He looked at the boy. "That day with the wallet?"

"You're not the only one who takes precautions. Had to make sure the man who showed up here was in fact Isaac Gellerman, Isaac Gellerman."

"Are you going to show us this merchandise, or what?" Mac cut in.

Gellerman looked at him. "Alright. Come on." He started off to the car. Mac and Grant both looked down at the large brief case.

"Carry the case," Mac ordered.

"I'm not carrying that," Grant announced.

"I'm not carrying it. You came. You carry it."

"You're bigger."

"You're louder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How many ways could that possibly be interpreted?"

"How about I tell him to come back and shoot you?"

"Why, you little…"

"Gentleman!" an annoyed henchman interrupted. They both looked at him. "Please follow Mr. Gellerman."

Mac gave the teen a pointed look. Grant merely crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "Not carrying it."

Mac thrust the brief case into the henchman's hands. "You carry it. Come on."

They followed Gellerman, the henchman behind toting the heavy case. Gellerman opened the trunk of his car. For a moment, they were speechless. The trunk was filled with ancient treasures, gorgeous pottery, jewelry, small statues, all of it resonating with that feeling of timelessness characterized by something held and touched and seen by human beings who were alive centuries before. It was breathtaking.

Grant cleared his throat. "Mm'kay. Can we hurry this up? _Alf _comes on in like half an hour."

"Alright. Let's see the money," Gellerman ordered.

The henchman looked down at the bag in his arms. Before he could try to fiddle with the latch, MacGyver suddenly kicked up on the bottom of the bag, knocking the hard case up, slamming the man in the jaw, knocking him out cold as the contents of the case fluttered up into the air in a great cloud of white, flittering, dollar-shaped pieces of blank paper. Before the other man, Charlie, could get his gun up to fire, Grant grabbed a golden Mayan statue and threw it, knocking the gun up to discharge harmlessly into the air. A well-placed right hook from MacGyver, and the man was on the ground and dead to the world.

Before they could get to Gellerman, however, the man was in the car and squealing away so fast the trunk slammed itself closed. "Pete!" MacGyver called into his mic. "Gellerman's getting away." The van was already in hot pursuit, squealing around the corner.

MacGyver watched them go. He picked up the statue. It had a small ding in it, which made him wince, but otherwise seemed okay. "That was a nice shot. I thought you hated baseball."

"I do hate baseball."

"You said you suck at it."

"I do."

"Yet you can throw a Mayan statue with enough accuracy to knock a gun out of a guy's hands?"

"Well, maybe if it were called Mayan statue ball I wouldn't have such a problem with it."

MacGyver grinned, shaking his head. "Why didn't Gellerman try to shoot us?" he wondered aloud.

"He did try. He just couldn't." Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bullets.

"You took the bullets out of his gun and then gave it back?" MacGyver asked, amazed. He shook his head. "You're a stinking magician."

Grant raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Nice right hook." He toed at a piece of paper on the ground. "You mad that I came?"

"I'm not exactly thrilled that you had to," Mac answered honestly, watching as Grant bit his bottom lip, obviously waiting for the yelling to begin. "But," he said slowly, "I thought we worked pretty well together. Your instincts were spot on. You got where I was going with the briefcase thing. You managed to get Gellerman to trust you within the span of a few seconds, and your statue-wielding skills are coming along nicely." Grant was looking at him with a pleased if somewhat confused expression. "You're going to make one amazing agent someday, bud."

"I…" Grant shook his head slightly. "What's changed?"

"I trust you."

A small, delighted smile lighted Grant's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I couldn't be more proud of you, kid."

Grant had the appearance of a man who'd just had a huge weight lifted off his shoulders as he looked at MacGyver. "Your mic's still on," he said softly.

MacGyver smiled and winked. "I know."



About twenty minutes later, the van came back around the corner, though at a much slower rate. Pete got out in time to be hit in the face by a crumpled paper ball.

"Sorry, Pete," MacGyver apologized as Grant stood several yards away giggling. The two had been having an all-out paper war, whooping and hollering and pretty much pelting each other half to death with the "money" that had been in the case. They now stood panting and breathless, looking altogether guilty surrounded by wads of crinkled paper. The serious expression on Pete's face quickly had MacGyver sobered. "You got him, right?" Mac asked.

Pete shook his head, his frustration clear in every feature. "No. He disappeared. The van couldn't keep up, and he got away with everything in the trunk of that car."

"So this whole thing was basically for nothing. Great," MacGyver muttered. A paper ball suddenly smacked him in the head. He turned in surprise to see the teen actually smiling.

"You guys worry too much," Grant said. "Pete, get with highway patrol and have them look for any stalled cars or hitchhikers along the road. Gellerman's not going anywhere."

MacGyver shot him a curious look. "What did you do?"

"Gellerman gave me a tip," Grant answered happily, casually bending to pick up another piece of paper. "I was just returning the favor." He was answered by a paper ball that bounced off his nose. He looked up. "Pete! What the heck!"


	7. Chapter 7

They found Gellerman two hours later, trudging along the highway, his pockets full of anything from the trunk that would fit inside them. There was no difficulty in arresting him. They easily found the car, stalled by the side of the road. The engine was sill smoking slightly.

"What happened?" Pete asked. "What did you do?"

Grant just grinned. MacGyver, a knowing look on his face, walked around to the back of the car. Upon close inspection of the exhaust pipe, he reached in and pulled out a burned, wadded piece of paper. He looked at Grant. "Since when do you start carrying fifty dollar bills?"

"Present from Gellerman," Grant replied smugly. "I had to return it. It would've been wrong for me to keep."

"When?"

"When I returned his wallet. Right after I lifted it."

"He paid you to steal his wallet?" Pete asked incredulously.

Grant shrugged. "He thought it was funny." He reached into the trunk and pulled out an elaborate headdress that might've been from Egypt, placing it on his head and adopting a serious expression that totally clashed with his ridiculous appearance. "You see, gentlemen, it is a well-known aspect of the human condition to expect one's fellow man to be straight up lying to one's face. When one's fellow man admits right off the bat that he's a liar, one tends to lean toward the idea that that man is indeed telling the truth. You understand?" He raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men, having to straighten the headdress as it tilted precariously to one side.

MacGyver rolled his eyes, laughing. "I think I might've actually followed that." He snatched the headdress off Grant's head, using the opportunity to ruffle the teen's already mussed hair. "Thank you, professor."

"Uh, MacGyver," Pete said nervously, gingerly plucking the priceless, yet undoubtedly pric_ey_ decoration from MacGyver's hand and setting it gently back in the trunk. "Let's not touch anything else, alright?"

"Really, Pete," MacGyver said, carelessly lifting an ancient-looking vase. "Come on. What is it you think's going to happen…" The vase suddenly slipped from his grasp, and he fumbled it a few times before regaining control. Relieved, he looked up at Pete. Wow. "I'll just put this back…"

"Both of you. Back to the van. Now."

Suitably shame-faced, the two trudged back to the van. Grant shot MacGyver a look, echoing Pete's earlier words. "Welcome to my world."



The next morning, Grant awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs and hashbrowns, and either pancakes or waffles, he couldn't be sure. He grinned under the covers. He rose soundlessly, tiptoeing across the family room, fully intending to scare the living daylights out of the man cooking breakfast. He stopped. There was no one…

"Gotcha!"

Grant nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a rather undignified yelp as he was grabbed from behind, scooped up, and tossed like a rag doll back onto the sofa. "Geeze! Mac!" he yelled, panting. "What the heck…"

His friend was way too busy looking smug to acknowledge the question. "Good morning."

Grant let out a huge breath and flopped his head back into the cushions as his heart rate slowed to its normal rhythm. "You sure?"

"Pretty sure. Breakfast's ready."

"Waffles?"

"Yeah, smart guy."

Grant didn't think it was important to mention the fact it had been a guess. "Can I go set the table?"

"Why would you have to ask?"

"Just making sure if I get up I'm not going to be viciously attacked in my own…"

"Home," MacGyver supplied at Grant's hesitation.

The small smile at the reassurance was quickly swallowed by the smirk that took its place. "I was getting there. Am I going to be viciously attacked again in my own home? _Hm_?"

"Any more of your lip, and I'll show you a vicious attack," MacGyver threatened lightly, running a finger under Grant's neck. The teen immediately squirmed away from the tickling touch.

"Payback, Mac, is a beautiful thing. Remember that." Grant took the offered hand that pulled him off the couch and propelled him toward the kitchen.

After a delicious breakfast, which Grant pretended not to notice was a little extravagant, MacGyver seemed to remember something. "Hang on a sec. I'll be right back."

He came back to the table a moment later carrying an envelope. He dropped it in front of Grant. "Those are from that birthday party the other week. Pete just got them developed."

Grant opened them and started going through the photos with little interest. Some guy he didn't know that well from the Foundation had had a birthday party. MacGyver was invited. Birthday Boy was polite, so of course Mac got the "Oh, and you can bring the…um…your…Grant's his name, isn't it?" Grant hadn't really wanted to go. He was always horrible in those kinds of settings. He never knew what to say, and the fact that he was by far the youngest person there always made him feel like some kind of novelty act or something.

But Mac had insisted they go, and he had to admit it wasn't that bad. He did get stared at some, but he'd had enough practice to pretend he was used to that, and most of the people were really nice. Pete, it turned out, had somehow figured it would be a good idea to designate himself the official photographer of the event. Which meant an inordinate amount of the pictures were either too dark or contained a great shot of Pete's little finger. He continued flipping through the photos as the phone rang. He didn't look up. MacGyver went to answer it.

The hairs on the back of Grant's neck stood and he felt the blood rush to his face. He knew what that call was about. He flipped through the pictures faster, more as a distraction than anything else. Suddenly he stopped, his eyes landing on one image, clinging to it.

MacGyver hung up the phone and sat quietly back down at the table. He waited a moment before saying the words Grant had known were coming all morning. "Aden left. He got on his bus this morning like he was supposed to. He's gone."

Grant took a deep breath and nodded. "Good." The man had never said goodbye. Grant hated the fact that even that simple slight still had the power to hurt him.

"Yeah," MacGyver said softly. "You okay?"

Grant looked down at the picture in his hand. "Yeah," he said slowly. He looked around his home, took in everything he had, not the least of which was the man sitting across the table from him, eyes radiating care and concern so much it was hard to look directly into them without fearing he'd scorch his retinas or something. A real hero. And he realized that it was true. It still stung, but he was okay. "Yeah. I'm okay."

MacGyver nodded. "Any good ones in there?" he asked, motioning toward the stack of photos Grant still held.

"Yeah, actually." He handed the picture to MacGyver.

MacGyver studied it, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was a candid shot. Mac could imagine Pete grinning as he took it. It was when they'd first arrived at the party. Grant was taking everything in with eyes wide, a slight nervous worry evident in his crinkled brow. MacGyver was smiling with his arm around him in a casual gesture of simple, comfortable affection. Eyes that whispered reassurance. A face that had changed in the last few months from one of closed, somewhat guarded look of a man who didn't completely know what he wanted, to one of open, undeniable love for a brainy, slightly nerdy, smart mouthed kid who in most respects had missed out on being a kid.

Mac cleared his throat. "Yeah, this one is a keeper. It's getting a frame. Objections?"

"None."

"Alright then."

Grant nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful. "You know, while we're looking through pictures…" He looked at MacGyver, eyebrows raised in question. "I got a couple you can look at. If you want."

"Lead the way."

Grant stood and made his way back to the small family room, heading to the closet as MacGyver shoved the blankets and pillows to one end of the couch and sat down. Grant turned around, the tin box in hand. He sat next to MacGyver, placing the box in his lap, Andy Griffith staring up at them with that lop-sided grin. Grant looked up at Mac, forced a grin like he wasn't baring his soul, and opened the box.

He lifted the photos and handed them wordlessly to MacGyver. There were sixteen in all. Sixteen four by six prints that represented twelve years of memories—a childhood that was much, much too short. MacGyver held them with a care and respect that touched the young man.

"Wow," MacGyver said as he smiled. He put his arm around Grant's shoulders and then pulled the boy in so he was holding the photos with both hands, catching the brief, shy spark of delight that crossed the teen's face. "How old are you there?"

Grant looked at the photo. He and his parents were on one of their annual camping trips. "Six." His dad was on one knee, arm around Grant as he pointed toward the sky.

"I know that look," MacGyver said with a grin, indicating the undeniably adorable Little Grant's serious, concentrated expression. "What was he teaching you?"

"How to tell time by the position of the sun," Grant recalled, smiling.

"You know, most kids are still learning how to tell time on a clock around that age?"

A shrug. What might've been a proud smile. "I had good teachers."

The next picture was of the three of them when Grant was about nine. MacGyver couldn't help but notice the family looked so happy. So innocent. He looked at the parents' smiling faces. _You really didn't know, did you? _They had no idea their little boy was going to have to grow up alone. _Not alone anymore,_ he vowed.

"We're going to need more frames," MacGyver said softly.

Grant looked up at him and smiled a rare, full, beautiful smile. "Yeah?"

"Any objections?"

Grant shook his head, leaning it back to rest on the front of MacGyver's shoulder while they continued to look through the photos. "None."

"Alright then." He made a mental note to buy a camera as soon as possible, too. They'd be needing some more family pictures about the place.

"Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"I love…being here. You know?"

MacGyver smiled. Kid still couldn't quite bring himself to say it. That was okay. They'd get there eventually. Besides, he heard him loud and clear. "I know, bud. Me, too."


End file.
